


Stars and Sin

by ChromeHoplite



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Carriage Sex, Choking, M/M, Public Sex, bottom!Sebastian, degrading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeHoplite/pseuds/ChromeHoplite
Summary: While Ciel is passed out, handcuffed in the carriage on the way to Scotland Yard, Sebastian and Blavat get up to no good.





	Stars and Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [velvetmeridian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetmeridian/gifts).



> Inspired by the Blavat x Sebastian art created by [@velvetmeridian](https://velvetmeridian.tumblr.com/post/178292808898/i-really-liked-the-scene-where-blavat-finds-out)

They were ushered into the back of the rickety wooden carriage, such a confinement could barely hold a mouse, much less a demon of his stature. Hell, his master could probably break out of here if he wasn’t in such a state. **  
**

Poor miserable little human. There he is, head hung in defeat, hands wringing in his lap. By the light that seeps through the barred windows, he sees Ciel’s neck muscles tense every seven seconds; the fraudulent earl swallows almost convulsively, no doubt in an attempt to stave off the tears he wants release in private.

It was on the tip of his devil’s tongue, taunting and malicious,  _Please my lord, after an eternity standing at the foot of the stairwell **I BUILT** , do us both a favour and save your tantrum for the jail cell_.

Sebastian’s thin lips part to say it, his tongue moistens them as he clears his throat, then the words die abruptly as they are joined by a third individual.

 _Him_. The prime pawn in the reaper’s convoluted game, that no one could yet wrap their head around.

He wonders if Undertaker does in fact share a bloodline with the Queen’s Watchdog, since they both have a fondness for it, of using humans, then discarding them once their purpose has been served, as though they were disposable… He snorts unattractively at the improbability; given their machinations, they were more likely to be in possession of demonic blood.

Regardless, Sebastian leers at Blavat with utmost distaste. He has to, the young master is looking at his butler, examining his profile for the slightest inkling that he too, might at any second, change his allegiance. Of course the devil won’t, he’s invested in the boy, has put forth too much time and effort catering to his ridiculous whims and his elaborate revenge scheme that never seems to come within striking distance.

When  _Mr. Phantomhive_ is satisfied that the demon shares in his repulsion of the lavender-haired occultist, he releases a shaky sigh and relaxes infinitesimally. The doors to the carriage are slammed shut as thunder rolls overhead; their exit is now barred and they lurch forward as the horses start plowing through the muddied countryside.

The ride is not nearly as comfortable as the coach, yet his master sees fit to rest his head back and close his eyes nonetheless. The schooled expression Sebastian wears melts to something else entirely when he’s not being examined by his contractor: his eyes soften, his jaw unclenches and the corners of his lips, once downturned, curl up in a sinister smile. 

Despite what the boy might think, it’s not repulsion Sebastian feels. It’s similar to the faint stirring sensation the chef provokes, a longing to be filled and to submit, but it’s confusing him this time, because the fortune teller isn’t brutish or undignified. He’s beautiful in an unearthly kind of way, with his condescending, starlit eyes veiled in lashes that cast shadows onto his cheeks, his unruly hair, mocked wisps of clouds whose colour has been stolen from violet sunsets and his mouth, once so close to his own that he’d tasted the clairvoyant’s breath, has been blessed with lips that look as though they’ve been carved by the gods themselves.

And if Blavat’s appearance hadn’t been enough to rouse the beast inside him, his secretive, quiet deduction of Sebastian’s nature, followed by his very public dismissal of him at the Sphere Music Hall had. He’s not used to rejection from humans and he certainly doesn’t shy away from a challenge.

Ignoring the Phantomhive youth who’d fallen asleep at his side, the fortune teller’s gaze falls appreciatively upon Sebastian’s human face. He watches as Blavat traces the contours of his body through the still-wet trench coat he’s wearing, as his unfixed stare goes from his chest, to his abdomen and lower. Across from him, Blavat spreads his legs wider than what is polite for gentlemen to do, pulls his long navy cape back from his thighs and lets it fall at either sides. The fingers roam over the fabric of his light trousers, and he curls them into the flesh beneath, kneading the muscle teasingly from knee to crotch. He sucks in an audible breath, and as his eyes go big, his pupils dilate to obscure his celestial blue irises.

They hit a bump in the road that does not wake his master, but the jostling motion causes Blavat to add pressure to the hand now actively fondling his own arousal. He keeps eyefucking the demon and breathes a moan that is barely a whisper between them. Finally, he curls a finger at Sebastian with one hand, and noisily pats his lap coyly with the other.

Sebastian leans his young master against the locked door so that he doesn’t fall over and wake, and crosses the width of the carriage in a single stride, head bowed as to not hit the roof. Looping his cuffed hands over the fortune teller’s head, he straddles Blavat on the bench, who pulls his body flush to his own and crushes his mouth against the butler’s.

It can’t be called a kiss; Sebastian is sure kissing doesn’t involve this amount of biting. His fangs nip Blavat’s bottom lip, while the clairvoyant sucks his tongue between his teeth and bites down hard enough to draw blood, groaning at the taste of it.

Sebastian pulls away with a pained expression as the fortune teller’s canines graze against his wet muscle. He bathes Blavat’s ear in warmth and tells him to be quiet. The rain will help muffle the sound of heavy breathing, the clanking of cuffs and the creaking of the wood beneath them, but unnecessary sounds were to be avoided altogether.

The occultist nods, snaking his hands between them and orders the demon to turn around and face his sleeping master. He obeys, scenting Blavat’s arousal in the stale air as it’s released and before he sits back on the waiting lap, pushes his trousers down until they pool around his shins.

“I’ve never fucked a hellspawn before,” Blavat condescends, pumping his length against the small of Sebastian’s back, then switching to running the wet tip along the crease of the devil’s ass, “let’s hope it’s not a waste of my time.”

Sebastian leans back, rolls his hips against the other man’s cock, grinding him eagerly as he bites his own lip to silence a whine. It doesn’t take much moving this way before Blavat’s nails dig into Sebastian’s rear, dragging him closer to thrust his engorged length between the demon’s cheeks. Every time Sebastian comes up even a little, the cockhead nudges his entrance, teases him, makes him hiss in anticipation.

He wills his master not to wake, to not see his butler this way: face flushed, eyes rolled back into his head as he tries desperately to impale himself on his foe’s hardness.

“Your kind doesn’t need lubrication does it, demon? You’re happy for the pain, aren’t you?” Blavat croons into the his back as he jerks his hips upwards and sheathes himself completely inside Sebastian’s tight heat with no other warning. The thunder crashes again, Sebastian opens his mouth to cry out and Blavat’s cuffed hands come up and over his head to covers it roughly.

The demon’s eyebrows are knitted together in fervent concentration. He wants to growl and snarl as Blavat’s cock is forced repeatedly into him.

“But you’re useless. Come on, move; unless, you want your precocious little master to watch? Don’t you think he’s seen enough today?” the fortune teller teases him. The words are punctuated by sharp pants and by the sound of their skin slapping. Blavat holds his body like a cage, pulling him up and slamming him down on his lap again. It’s wrinkles his work attire, the ferocity of his movements tears some of the fabric as he holds it by the fistful.

“Yesss…” the demon agrees, bouncing on Blavat, being painfully stretched, riding him hard as ringed fingers yank his slick hair back by the roots. “H-harder,” he begs, voice raspy and quavering, “fuck me harder, human.”

Blavat takes the request seriously. Commands the demon to stand, turn around and kneel on the bench.

Following the instructions to the letter, Sebastian holds onto the bars along the ridiculously small window. Blavat’s considerate enough to spit on his cock before shoving it aggressively back in again. It slips in and out of him with ease now, makes loud, squelching sounds that he’s convinced will wake the former earl. He doesn’t care anymore. The tail of his butler jacket and overcoat are tossed over his shoulder and his cheeks are spread apart; he knows Blavat is watching himself get drawn into his greedy hole, knows it because the more he watches, the faster he fucks.

Oh and the demon needs this. He can barely make out the litany of names the occultist is calling him as he grips his shoulders and drills himself into his devil cunt.

“Whore,” he whispers in his ear, “you’ll bend over for just about anyone, won’t you, butler?” Blavat releases his shoulders in favour of his hips, with his hands tied the way they are, his fingers are clawing and slipping away from them, but he still keeps pistoning in and out of him as though this is all he was ever summoned for. “If we had time I’d fuck that pretty mouth of yours too. Choke you. Make your eyes water and soil your face along with my spoils.”

Sebastian’s knuckles are white with how hard he’s holding the bars, they groan in protest along with the cuffs and the pelting rain outside does nothing to extinguish the burning he feels along his flesh. The tension building in his neglected cock intensifies as Blavat’s leg comes up on the bench to change the angle of his thrusts.

Inspired by his last threat, Blavat strangles the demon with his manacles, sticks two fingers into Sebastian’s mouth and tells him to suck. He does. And he tries not to gag. He’s so sloppy, spit running from the corner of his mouth to this chin when another finger is pushed in.

They both hear the driver say he can see their destination approaching and Blavat’s hips become more erratic in their movement as a result. He goes rigid, holding Sebastian’s head and the demon can actually feel his cock convulse inside him, knows the moment the fortune teller starts filling him with his seed. Feels it spill from his hole and run down the back of his thighs as Blavat pulls out before he can even…

His master stirs, mumbling something about his brother, and by the time he opens his eyes, Sebastian is at his side again, concealing a sizeable, unsatisfied bulge beneath his trench coat.

They come to a stop, and Blavat is the first to be escorted from the carriage. Sebastian glares at him as he leaves, bearing his fangs in true, unmistakable loathing.

The young lord stretches, and gets to his feet with no fear of harming his head. “I detest him, Sebastian. First chance you get, you do away with him, do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord. It will be my pleasure.”


End file.
